Masquerade

by O.O. Sangoyomi

“Do not mind her,” Kl said. “Because she cannot marry her own son, she resents any woman who can.”

I counted these nights no less successful; I liked Àrmọ’s laugh. It was the very first gift he had ever given me, one of the few things from my past life that I was grateful to keep. If I did not have my mother, at least in the meantime, I had him.

But for as long as I had known Àrmọ, there was no reason for me to have been surprised. I knew who he was: the same as me. He waged wars, ravaged entire villages, and killed countless people. And I committed an act equally as violent: I loved him.

However, if I had a daughter, I would have broken her legs. I would have done everything I could to save her from having to walk around in this world. Maybe then she would not have to feel everything I had—or, worse, feel the nothing I felt now.

I was the Aláàfin’s family; I had saved him and his kingdom multiple times. Any other man would have been honored for such efforts—but I was not a man. I was a wife.

I had loved him, but so long as I belonged to a man, I would never have any power of my own.